


Beastly Natures and the Secret Curse

by Curlsandcollege



Series: Broken Unbroken (Curse Universe) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Curses, Arranged Marriage, Curses, F/M, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Politics, Self Acceptance, some mention of blood and fighting, those who slither - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curlsandcollege/pseuds/Curlsandcollege
Summary: Curses are considered a badge of honor in Faerghus, yet its King, Dimitri Alexande Blaiddyd, hides his from the world.He’s learned to live with the violent thoughts his curse whispers in his ear, but an impending threat slinks in the shadows threatening the careful peace he has achieved.In an attempt to ensure the stability of Faerghus he agrees to marry a stranger.Marianne von Edmund is not at all who he expected, but they might have more in common than they ever realized. He will just need to keep his darker nature a secret if he ever hopes she might love him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund
Series: Broken Unbroken (Curse Universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177529
Comments: 31
Kudos: 44





	1. An arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> The Curse!AU lives on- This time exploring Dimitri and his own journey through his curse. 
> 
> Wanderer's Curse and the Witch of the Wind is not necessary reading, but if you like the idea of curses, feel free to check it out.
> 
> Short chapter to kick this one off- Enjoy!

Before she was murdered Dimitri’s stepmother used to lament, “A good man can never be a great king.”  
  
It was unfortunate then that he was neither.   
  


* * *

The heat of summer crept to a sticky close and Dimitri longed to leave his sweltering office if only for a moment. Being a king was not a leisurely occupation if one was to attempt to be worthy of the responsibility. 

He’d inherited his throne far too young. Took the helm of a kingdom out of the hands of a regent who cared little for the duties of the position. His advisors were quick to push him to coronation at the ripe old age of eighteen. No one could be worse than his predecessor.  
  
In his more confident moments, Dimitri would admit he was not worse. 

  
As a child Dimitri was an ideal prince. Handsome, well spoken, idealistic in the ways that made lords think him well intentioned and easily manipulated. None dared call him weak, his monstrous strength won him bouts against all but the most seasoned knights by the time he was fifteen.

_He will be a true king of Faerghus, a warrior king like the legends of old._  
  
He wore the praise like a prophecy. 

Then came Cornelia. The attempted coup. His father and stepmother murdered along with half of the court as mages descended, causing chaos in their wake.  
  
He fought his way out as the palace burned, and did not realize until he escaped onto the streets of Fhirdiad that he could not stop fighting- his lance swung wildly, cutting a path through all who approached him as his mind screamed at him to keep going, that this was righteous, that any who did not stand with him was responsible for the screams of his family.

The smoke consumed his lungs as his father called out for more blood, more flesh, a tribute worthy of a king. 

By the time he awoke his eye was gone, and he realized something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

He could barely stand, but still, he wished to keep fighting. 

* * *

A knock sounded at his door, and a steward announced, “Your Majesty, Lord Arundel of the empire, is here to see you.”  
  
“Please, let him in.” 

Arundel hadn’t aged a day since Dimitri last encountered the man. His uncle was still tall and well groomed, though there was something cold and shielded about him that always set Dimitri on edge.  
  
“Uncle, this is a welcome surprise.” It wasn’t, not really, not with the whispers of _bigger things to come_ that were consuming the inner circle of Fhirdiad. There were no welcome surprises these days.  
  
Yet, Arundel was the only family Dimitri had left, even if merely by marriage. He could make time for him.  
  
Then perhaps he’d take his horse out for some exercise. And himself. Escape his stuffy office for even an hour to breathe freely. It would relax him, make him stop fantasizing of letting whatever conspirators and assassins were after him just _come_ . Let them challenge him and meet their bloody end by his own hand. Revenge at last.  
  
He swallowed, trying to refocus on his unexpected visitor.  
  
Arundel gave a polite bow, “You are looking well, nephew. You look more and more like your father each day.”  
  
“Are you here on Empire business, or just passing through?” Dimitri asked. His uncle always seemed to have his finger every pie. It wasn’t totally unusual for him to breeze in and unsettle the careful balance Dimitri managed to maintain with a rumor or a proposition.  
  
“I would say I am here on a more personal matter. As your oldest living relative, I feel it is my duty to look after you in a paternalistic sense.” His words suggested warmth, but his gaze remained as calculated as ever.  
  
“Uncle, I am a man fully grown, I require none of that. My advisors are quite enough.” 

Arundel scoffed, “Advisors are not family. Speaking of, where is the sour one? The Fraldarius boy?”  
  
With his beloved cursebreaker, translating one of the hundreds of documents recovered from Cornelia’s home. Documents that seemed to spell out his doom, noting the precarity of Faerghus’ position. How one dead king shook the kingdom to its core- another could wipe it from the map entirely.  
  
As he had the thought, his eye fell to a stack of untranslated notes in Nabatean. He should have hidden them before he let his uncle in. They were Cornelia’s originals. All written in an indecipherable language to anyone without the magic of curses or cursebreaking. Aruendel was no such mage- it would be fine.  
  
His body was still on edge, the familiar din of paranoia pulling at him. Dimitri tried to speak evenly, “He is occupied today. I do not mind the solitude.”  
  
“I’d heard he’d left court rather abruptly last spring.” His uncle’s voice dripped with implication.

“He’s returned.” Dimitri answered. 

“Yes allegedly with a cursebreaker in tow.” He said Annette’s profession as if he were calling her a criminal, “I know you hold the family in high esteem, but truly does anyone around here think that’s an appropriate match for a future Duke of Fraldarius?”  
  
No. Not really. But Annette had proven her worth ten times over in the few months she’d been in Fhirdiad. She made Felix more bearable too.  
  
“I did not realize you were so invested in Faerghus politics.” Dimitri said tightly, and then trying to diffuse the situation he said, “Or matchmaking.”  
  
“I am invested in the realm. And matchmaking is exactly what I am here to discuss with you.”  
  
Dimitri felt the beginnings of a headache, “Uncle I am quite uninterested in the endeavor.”  
  
“Dimitri you are a king- It’s high time you start considering your legacy. You are a leader of Faerghus who is unable to join his troops on a field of war because of the risk while you have no heir.”  
  
Dimitri could not join his troops on a field of war because there was a real chance he’d slaughter his own soldiers before the day ended. But that was a carefully guarded secret, one that an Adrestian lord need not know, even if he was family.  
  
“There is no war Uncle.” Dimitri pointed out. Even the very word _war_ excited his thoughts, made his fingers itch for the heavy weight of a gauntlet and the grip of a lance.  
  
“And if there were? I only come because I met the most interesting young woman on my travels.”  
  
Dimitri held a hand up, trying to act regal when really he was a nervous wreck, “Please, spare me. There are plenty of eligible women in Faerghus. I do not need your meddling.”  
  
“If there were a woman in Faerghus that would satisfy you, you would have married her by now.” Dimitri had no response to that, because it was the truth. He would not tie himself to any woman, not as he was. “I only push because you are family and I do believe the two of you would get on famously. Are you acquainted with the Margrave Edmund?”  
  
“Yes. A recently risen family in the Alliance. His prowess is spoken of well.” Von Edmund was said to be some kind of genius politically.  
  
“The Edmunds are neighbors to Faerghus and control an important port. They would be a savvy choice- Well connected both politically and in commerce.” Dimitri waited for the point, “They have been unsuccessful in making a match for their daughter.”  
  
“And you suggest I might be the solution to one family’s prayers?”  
  
“All nobles pray their daughters might marry a king. No. The daughter is smart, an accomplished healer and horsewoman. She has the unfortunate condition of being cursed in her childhood.”  
  
“I thought Alliance nobles typically broke severe curses?”  
  
“That’s the issue- it’s a bit of a black mark on her reputation because apparently even with the vast resources of the family, she remains cursed. I am unaware of the specifics of the curse in question, only that it is more _inconvenient_ than dangerous.” Lucky her, Dimitri thought sourly, “Even so, Alliance superstition has rendered her ineligible for any appropriate match. Her father is on the high council, he’ll settle for no one less than a duke. In fact, he lamented to me that she might only have a chance in Faerghus.”  
  
Dimitri caught his meaning almost instantly, “A curse would not mar her reputation in Faerghus.”  
  
“Yes you do like to wear such things as a badge of honor here. Only the girl wishes not to marry a cursed man, which renders most of your nobility ineligible.”  
  
By those standards Dimitri himself was not suitable. Badge of honor or no, Dimitri’s curse would ruin him if discovered.  
  
It already had. 

Arundel kept speaking, “How convenient, that my dear nephew, the _King_ of Faerghus, remains uncursed even in his majority.”  
  
Dimitri gritted his teeth together, “Indeed.” 

“She is quite shy. But she is beautiful, very wealthy, and her father insists she is up for the task. You have much in common, she enjoys the company of animals, she is appropriately religious. Her aptitude for healing is a good compliment to your rather accident prone nature. She’s a very gentle soul.”  
  


For one small moment Dimitri tried to imagine himself as a husband, having the joy and company of a wife. What it would be like not to be alone anymore.  
  
A perfect match, someone who might understand him as he was, and loved him for it. 

His father had loved his stepmother, though their time together was so short. Could he have that sort of affection with someone? He could for one brief moment imagine holding a child and the whole idea almost seemed appealing.  
  
A shred of hope for something joyful to come.  
  
Then his brain curled the image into something terrible and reminded Dimitri who he was, what he was. What he did to delicate things.  
  
As his thoughts turned bloody Dimitri turned his eye to the window, trying to find something to anchor himself onto. Reality. He was in his office. He tried to sound human as his mind screamed, “Speak to Rodrigue about the matter. I- I cannot picture myself marrying. I’ll defer to his judgement if you are so confident in the match.”  
  
“You will need to marry, nephew. I only present an option because I am absolutely confident in its perfection. If you defer the responsibility to Duke Fraldarius, I will honor your request. Is he present?”  
  
“Yes. Please, I have other matters to attend to.” 

“May I assist you in anything else before I make my leave? You seem worried.” Their eyes met and Dimitri tried to remember the compassionate man from his youth, “What weighs on you?”  
  
The weight of a country. A curse. A planned attack by a shadowy force he couldn’t begin to understand or identify.

He realized before he spoke that even asking was a risk, yet, his uncle was one of the most well connected men in Fodlan. Perhaps he might have an answer.  
  
Even a breadcrumb would put everyone at ease.  
  
“Uncle, do you know a man named Thales?”  
  
In all of the letters and documents they’d recovered from Cornelia, one name kept popping up over and over again. She answered to Thales, whoever he was.  
  
Arundel’s eyes widened for just a moment before he schooled his face back into impassivity, if Dimitri blinked he would have missed it.  
  
“No. I have never heard that name before. Why do you ask?”  
  
“It’s no matter. Only a curiosity.” His mind whispered to follow that thread, but it felt careless to press. “I will grant you leave to discuss with Duke Rodrigue. Please, I am not unhappy to see you, I only-”  
  
“I am taking up too much of your time. Please, excuse me nephew.” 

* * *

It was decided not two weeks later that Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd would marry Marianne von Edmund, and for the first time in almost a decade Faerghus would have a queen. 

When Rodrigue delivered the news Dimitri faced it bravely. He was twenty five years old, and it was high time he married. Stronger ties with Leicester was a prudent political move.  
  
It was for the good of Faerghus.  
  
“Do you wish to arrange a meeting before the wedding? We are not so barbaric as to tie you to a woman you’ve never even seen before.”  
  
“No. Please, excuse me. I feel the need to train.”  
  
He did not miss the pity in Rodrigue’s gaze as he brushed past him out of the palace. 

* * *

Dimitri’s private training grounds were nestled high on a mountain that could only be climbed on foot. It was a small room full of dummies, weapons, and targets with a huge wooden door that required several magical conditions to unlock.  
  
He went alone, without even Dedue by his side, and planned to spend the night. He never knew how long an episode might last.  
  
His father would be so disappointed in him, in his cowardice, in his lies.  
  
Dimitri breathed as he entered the training grounds and felt himself begin to sweat in anticipation. The air was stifling by design. He pulled his tunic over his head, casting it aside. He’d only ruin it if he kept it on. He’d likely ruin it anyway.  
  
He locked the door behind him, feeling the magic take hold. Only then could he approach the weapons rack, filled once again, and lift his lance, admiring the make.  
  
It would be ruined by morning, he lamented. Perhaps a different weapon, one less expensive or fine.  
  
No. This was a luxury he afforded himself so rarely.  
  
He’d indulge himself, then maybe he could act human once again. Could remember that in all things Faerghus came first.  
  
Dimitri laughed, staring up at a training dummy. “You are as worthy of my crown as I.” This one was straw, though there were others, stronger, harder to break.  
  
Ones filled with paint and iron and all sorts of things to attempt to trick his curse. To satisfy his cravings.  
  
He wondered where they were hidden, what they were made of this time? He had vague memories of metal that could move, run, fight back.  
  
The reasonable side of him lamented how expensive it must have been for mages to build such things.  
  
Then Dimitri hefted his lance, and his mind had no more thoughts.  
  
The curse of violence was simple in its severity. When Dimitri fought he lost control, everything serving an endless bloodlust. He would fight until there were no more enemies.  
  
His cursed mind couldn’t discern between an enemy and a friend.  
  
It made him terrifying on a battlefield, but unpredictable, volatile. Dangerous.  
  
In Faerghus, people wore their curses as proud battle scars. But not him. The curse of violence was a hidden, secret shame. What he bore was too vile even for the warriors of Faerghus.  
  


He came to as the first morning light hit his face, sore and dazed. The lance was in splinters on the ground, and there was a gash across his hand from where he’d picked up the point and used it as a dagger.  
  
He climbed over piles of wreckage to place the splintered weapon remains back on the table. A rush of magic, acrid and electric, came through the room and the door creaked as it unlocked.  
  
Dimitri tried to ignore the scratches in the wood and the corresponding pain in his fingers. 

  
As he made his way back to the palace in the morning light his head was blissfully clear and quiet for once.  
  
It didn’t last. It never did.


	2. A pin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don’t fall apart as quickly as Dimitri feared.

“You know, I met your fiancé once.” Sylvain took a long pause to sip at whatever expensive liquor he’d packed in his flask. Dimitri typically enjoyed the diversion when Sylvain came to court, but he was as exhausting as he was distracting.   
  
Dimitri suggested they go riding in an attempt to _forget_ his impending nuptials, but Sylvain really only had three preferred topics of conversation until he was deep enough in his cups to stop playing the flirtatious fool.   
  
As it was, information on the woman he was meant to marry in two days time wasn’t necessarily unwelcome. 

It was for the best that his mind’s eye was blank when it came to Marianne von Edmund. His curse liked to twist any pleasant thought into something gruesome. It was a blessing that Dimitri lacked a good imagination. The imagery could only become so violent when he couldn’t picture her.   
  
Instead, he got the shockingly normal experience of just being anxious about being married to a complete stranger. Novel.

“What did you make of her?” He hoped he didn’t sound as boyish as he felt.   
  
Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, “Marianne? Well… She’s… I liked her.”   
  
He couldn’t tell if Sylvain was trying to be diplomatic, “You claim to like every woman.”   
  
Sylvain laughed, shrugging sheepishly, “Yeah but I actually liked her. She’s honest. Didn’t seem that concerned with status, for all that she’s landed a king.”   
  
“My uncle said she is shy.” Dimitri clung to the scant details he had. Shy. Gentle. Honorable.   
  
“Yeah definitely that. She seemed pretty sheltered?”   
  


“In the way you’d consider a woman sheltered?” Sylvain’s stories could make the most grizzled mercenaries blush, “Or I’d consider a woman sheltered?”   
  
Sylvain grinned, “Even you, my uptight friend, would consider her sheltered. She didn’t get out much, her father didn’t allow it. Not even to town.”   
  
A pit formed in his stomach, “She’s hardly left her home and now she has to move to Faerghus?”   
  
Sylvain spurred his horse on, his tone lackadaisical, “Can I remind you that you’re a catch? You’re no me, but hey, most women would move countries to be a queen.”

“I suppose.” She insisted her husband not be cursed. She was walking into the lion's den. Even if he weren’t a risk to her, himself, everyone, there were still bigger forces at play. They certainly hadn’t told the Margrave about Cornelia or Thales or the plots to destabilize the kingdom.   
  
Dimitri was sure he was going to be sick. He slept even less than usual these days. The kingdom would run out of chamomile tea at the rate Dedue was pushing it.   
  
Sylvain rode alongside him, brandishing his flask, “Dima, you need to relax. You’re getting married, not going to war.”   
  
“Going to war would be easier. I’ve prepared for that.” 

“Well what kinds of _preparations_ do you feel you need?” Sylvain cocked his eyebrow and Dimitri caught his meaning. 

  
“Sylvain, kindly refrain from teasing me.” He turned his head, trying to hide the telltale blush that was forming on his face. This was not dignified. Not necessary. 

Sylvain cried in frustration, this really was one of his three favorite topics, “Come on! You’ve never shown any interest in women or men or anyone. I’ve been _waiting_. I have expertise! Let me advise you, your Majesty.”   
  
“I don’t require advice.” Dimitri said with the last shreds of his composure.   
  
Sylvain’s laugh was far too loud, “Thinking you don’t require advice means you _definitely_ do- Who are you going to ask? Glenn? He’s married to Ingrid. Any advice he’d give is going to be filtered through the lens of being married to _Ingrid_.”   
  
“I like Ingrid. As do you.” Dimitri protested.   
  
He snorted, “Enough that you want to know all the gory details of-”   
  
Dimitri interjected, “Stop. I’m not asking about that. Sylvain I can hardly remember having a family. I don’t know how to share space in my life. If it’s romance or political or even forming a friendship I- She’s a complete stranger and we’re tied together eternally. Sex is the least of my concerns. I will never make her happy.” 

  
The path split and Dimitri sped up, heading uphill towards the edge of the woods. The path narrowed at the top, and if Sylvain insisted on running his mouth further Dimitri could just pretend he didn’t hear him.   
  
They rode in tense silence until the next pass, when Sylvain pulled right alongside him. 

“You’re not going to hurt her, you know.” Sylvain said far too casually. 

Dimitri wished, not for the first time, that Sylvain was actually as dumb as he claimed to be.   
  
“I know nothing.” The idea was abhorrent. Dimitri, for all of his faults, did not lash out randomly. His resolve was iron, gripping to the calmness and civility that let him function in the day to day. Let him hide what his curse had made him. 

  
Sylvain’s teasing and needling was one thing, but his sincerity stung worst of all. “You have more control over your curse than you think you do.” 

Dimitri simmered, felt his mind suggest that he show Sylvain how _little_ control he had over his thoughts. It was grotesque, and he could almost find amusement in how predictable he could be at times.   
  
Sylvain took his flask out, offering it though Dimitri refused, “Oh don’t make that face Dima. Honestly, it’s as if you want things to go wrong.”   
  
“I won’t be able to hide it forever.”   
  
And when it happened at last? She’d know she’d married a monster in a man’s skin. He’d be outed as a liar to this honorable woman who did nothing but be cursed and be born in a place where that was unacceptable. How terribly unfair her life was. He was entering the marriage on false pretenses. He should just give up. Dissolve the agreement all together.   
  
Never tell anyone why.   
  
Sylvain tried to sound encouraging, “Who says you won’t? She’s going to fall head over heels in love with you and then it won’t matter. You’re only violent when you fight and I always imagined you’re more of a lover than a fighter.”   
  
If only that were true. 

* * *

When Dimitri looked back on his wedding day he remembered nearly nothing. It was a haze of nerves and the smell of incense and a tense look from Dedue as he strapped his ceremonial sword around his waist.   
  
He felt as if he were standing on the precipice of disaster. A hell of his own making. 

  
No.   
  


He would not give up so easily. She was an innocent in all of this.

His duty was to protect her.  
  
Even she hated him. Feared him. Whether they were well matched or incompatible. Nothing changed.   
  
Dimitri was not a good man, but he could pretend to be one for the sake of others.   
  
He’d done the right thing by Glenn, all those years ago. He could do the right thing now.   
  
  
Dimitri’s first impression of his wife was that she was much smaller than he expected.   
  
She approached and Dimitri tried to give a small smile, but her gaze remained stubbornly ahead.   
  
She wouldn’t even look at him.   
  
His second impression was that she looked miserable, with deep bags under her eyes.   
  
He couldn’t blame her.   
  
The third, he could not take his eye off of her. Her hair was braided elaborately in a vibrant shade of blue that made some sick sentimental part of him think she _belonged_ in Faerghus. He missed what the Bishop was saying, too mesmerized with the woman kneeling next to him. Her head bowed in prayer as if she believed something would come of it.   
  
He should have been paying attention, yet he felt breathlessly scattered. Dimitri did not often take time to appreciate beautiful things in the world, too absorbed with his gruesome inner life.   
  
He was half convinced he could learn just from being in her presence.   
  
He studied her, mouthing along to prayers he was meant to remember.   
  
And suddenly he was standing and placing a gold ring on this woman’s tiny finger. Her hand in his own, warm despite the draft of the cathedral.   
  
Her eyes remained stubbornly fixated on their entwined hands as the Bishop spoke of love and prosperity. 

Her fingers trembled as she slid a ring onto his hand, and at last he heard her voice clearly as she said her vows- Her tone clear, carrying through the cathedral, belying none of the nerves he was certain he wasn’t just imagining.   
  
It seemed his wife wore masks of her own. 

* * *

  
  
Dimitri was well used to a pressing awareness that he was taking up too much space. As familiar as the sensation was he couldn’t help but feel as if he was crowding Marianne as she sat across from him in the carriage. His new wife was holding herself pressed to the side as if she wished a bump in the road would break the door and allow her to tumble into the street.   
  
His earlier impression had been correct, she was plainly terrified. Of him? Of marriage? Of her new lot in life?   
  
“It is wonderful to meet you at last.” He tried to use every ounce of decorum he’d ever learned to try to set her at ease. He’d met with hostile diplomats, lords threatening to rebel. And yet he was more frightened of this small woman who looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.   
  
Like him.   
  
Marianne’s head turned slightly, and she let out a small noise of surprise, “You’re so formal.”   
  
“I suppose I am. I’ve been accused of worse.” The air in the carriage lifted for one small moment with the exchange, but they fell back into an awkward silence.   
  
Was this to be the rest of his life?   
  
She fiddled idly with the emerald ring he’d placed on her finger just minutes before, spinning it in mindless circles. He could still remember how warm her hand had felt in his own. How long had it been since he’d touched someone’s bare skin?   
  


“Does it not fit?”   
  


She practically jumped at his question, “Oh, no it’s fine.” Her head turned and at last she looked at him, “I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say to you.”   
  
He couldn’t help but smile at her honesty, “There’s no need to apologize. I haven’t been married before either.” 

“Well… I guess that’s true. I’m Marianne von Edmund, well no, sorry. I’m Marianne um… B-bla-” She stuttered over his family name, her name now.   
  
She was nearly on the edge of outright panic, he realized.   
  
He reached his hand out, placing it gently on her shoulder, in an attempt to be all the things he wasn't, “Please, let’s start over. My name is Dimitri,” He omitted his last name all together, “I am from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. I enjoy horseback riding.”   
  
Her face lit up, “Oh? I love animals. My horse Dorte is my best friend in the-” She closed her mouth tightly and looked away from him. She was blushing terribly and it was shockingly endearing.   
  


“I would like to meet him. If he’s your best friend, I imagine I require his approval.” 

“His approval?” She gave him a look as if she thought he was mad.   
  
He’d endured far worse from people he liked far less, and he couldn’t help as his terrible sense of humor crept out, “If I’m to be your husband, I would hold your best friend’s opinion rather highly.” 

The radiance of Marianne’s smile warmed him more effectively than any sunbeam ever had. 

* * *

Dimitri had never enjoyed a feast so much in his life. 

There were nobles from all over the continent present to acknowledge the match. The insincere congratulations would normally have him clawing at the walls. He had anticipated his usual response to events, his thoughts spinning and spiraling to threaten and harm and show them how _lucky_ they all were for his mask of good nature.   
  
Yet he found that he cared so little for anyone in the room but Marianne. He was far too distracted to hate himself or anyone.   
  
She was hardly a competent dancer. He led her to the floor and she frowned, whispering she went to very few balls growing up. It showed. As she stepped on his feet it only made him laugh- He’d endured worse pain than a tiny woman trying to keep time poorly. The feeling of her hands on him made his skin burn, cry out for more, and he for the first time in his life wished to stay on the dance floor beyond an obligatory appearance. 

She looked horribly guilty as each dance ended- asking his forgiveness for her incompetence.   
  
“Marianne, may I confess something to you?” He said after the third waltz ended.   
  
“Oh, yes, of course.” She had trouble meeting his eye.   
  
“I am dreadfully clumsy.” He whispered.   
  
She stepped back from him, and he felt the loss of her touch acutely. “Do not put yourself down for my sake. That does not make me feel better.” 

  
There was an intensity in her tone far stronger than anything she’d said in their brief acquaintance and it made something in him stir even as guilt overshadowed the _approval_ from his curse.   
  
“Marianne I would never,” He stopped, rephrased, “I am not lying. You should see my quarters. I break everything more delicate than stone.” 

He watched as she processed his confession, her eyebrows knit together and she glanced up at him, “How do you drink tea then?”   
  
He couldn’t help but laugh, “Carefully. And in cheap cups.” 

* * *

His curse had been forebodingly quiet all day, overshadowed by the events, but as he was separated to dress down for the evening the silence was broken.   
  
_You will hurt her. You will destroy her._   
  
Dimitri swallowed, splashing cold water on his face, trying desperately to let the thoughts pass over him, not give them power.   
  
Her innocence was tempting. She’d seen so little of the world, no balls, no battle. It would be so easy to frighten her.   
  
“I’m sure she’s seen plenty.” Dimitri mumbled, and took one brief glance at himself in the glass. He wasn’t bad to look at, he knew objectively. He kept clean shaven- if only to distract himself from the ever growing resemblance to his father. One could even call him handsome but for the gruesome scars that marred his dead eye.   
  
He placed his eyepatch back on, there was no need to startle her further. 

The relief brought by the realization that he did, in fact, _like_ Marianne was clouded by the pressing, painful anxiety of what was expected of him. Of them.   
  
He half regretted not taking Sylvain’s advice when offered. But what advice would he have for Dimitri when he was so absolutely sure he did not have any desire for sex at all? At least not yet. 

  
Who was he to ask? 

  
Dedue had married for love, and though Glenn and Ingrid were betrothed they had a lifetime of friendship between them.   
  
He’d heard bards perform songs of love, of lovemaking, and there was an ever present theme of _listening to one’s body_ .   
  
Dimitri hadn’t listened to his body in years. Nor his mind. He could trust neither. 

* * *

The sight of Marianne dressed in only her chemise was so shocking that the only thing Dimitri could find to say was, “Your hair is so much longer down.”   
  
Marianne sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around herself looking as if she might spring at any moment.   
  
“I- I guess so.”   
  
He surveyed the room, trying to scan it as if it were a battlefield. Bed was too symbolic, too loaded.   
  
They needed to talk sincerely if this was going to work. He’d need to pull her down to his level- lies. Deceit. 

  
There were two overstuffed armchairs by the fire, blessedly spaced apart.   
  
“Would you join me?” 

Marianne startled at his request, but crossed the room to sit in her own chair. Her eyes still lowered to the floor.   
  
He could see her better in the firelight. Her hair was long, falling in thick waves around her shoulders. He could see just a peak of skin from the loose neckline, glowing under the light. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her bare skin, feel if she was as soft as she looked.   
  
His curse suggested he bite and he flinched. The guilt centered him, reminded him of his goal.   
  
A lifetime of kingly training allowed him to muster up the courage to say, “I do not intend to have you.” The formality ruined by how he flushed scarlet at the declaration.   
  
She flushed from her neck all the way up to her hairline, but she said nothing. He watched as she gripped the arm of the chair, her knuckles turning white in a desire to say something she simply would not. 

He continued, sensing her discomfort, “If you desire that I leave, I will do so.”   
  
Whatever Marianne planned to say was abandoned for a hasty, “Wait, please. I- My handmaiden is… She’ll know. Everyone will know.”   
  
Ah. Of course. Their lives were never truly private- not really.   
  
Marianne’s voice lowered as she spoke, “I- I have failed at so many things in my life. Please. I can’t. Please don’t send me back.” 

  
Dimitri’s guilt returned tenfold. He’d thought only of himself, his own comfort. His own position.   
  
“I am not sending you away. Nor am I rejecting you. I…”   
  
He’d come in planning to lie, so used to having everyone pretend and look the other way to protect him. But Marianne was a citizen of Faerghus.   
  
“I am not uninterested, but I only ask that we become accustomed to our new status together. There’s no need for us to rush anything.”   
  
Marianne’s fingernails were ragged and Dimitri could not stop staring at them. Perhaps she’d gnawed them in anxiety. She was so fixated on his implied rejection of her.   
  
Him, reject her. Power was so strange, even now. So absolute, so damaging.   
  
He was so unfit for this. For any of it.   
  
It was uncouth for a king to lower himself, but he made an imposing figure, even without the knowledge of how truly dangerous he really was. As it stood, he could hardly see her eyes in the darkness of the room, the deep shadows underneath obscuring her.   
  
For everything he was worried about at least he was home, this was familiar territory. She had no one. Nothing.   
  
And so instead of any number of things he’d feel foolish saying he instead knelt before her chair said, “I wish for us to be friends. I would like you to be my friend.” 

Marianne glanced at him, though she still couldn’t quite meet his eye. “I… I haven’t had many friends.”   
  
“Your father prevented it?”   
  
“No. Well. I…” There was a far off look in her eye, and Dimitri recognized it instantly.   
  
She shook her head and a bit of hair fell into her face, “That’s not it. I’m not being fair to the friends I did have, they are kind. Better people than I am. I had correspondence. But… I’m not used to spending time in the company of others. I am unworthy of any of this.”   
  
What a perfect pair the two of them made.   
  
Dimitri wrapped his hand around the arm of the chair as her hair called to him, “Marianne you have my word that I will not send you home. You are my wife. More than that, you are now a citizen of Faerghus. My utmost priority is your wellbeing. If you trust me for little else, please know I sincerely do not wish to send you away.”   
  
The obvious shock on her face was heartbreaking “You don’t?”   
  
“No. I haven’t met Dorte yet. He shall make the final determination if we’re suited, don’t you think?” 

Her lips turned up ever so slightly and he could see her shoulders relax. For a brief moment he felt a strange approximation to confidence that this could work- They could work. If nothing else he found himself wishing to see her smile again.   
  
“If you are not… If you’d like to delay…” Her eyes moved ever so slightly towards the bed and Dimitri could feel himself flush, “I would not mind it. I haven’t… I was prepared to but…”   
  
He went back to his prepared speech, “I would like to get to know you, first.” And he did, desperately. Why rush to something that would leave both of them disappointed? No, talking only.   
  
Marianne mumbled, “Monica will talk.”   
  
“Monica?”   
  
“My handmaiden. She is new to me, and she told me so many things about. Um. Consummation. And I only… She’ll know.” Marianne was a deep scarlet and she pulled her hands back to rest gently against her lips.   
  
“How would she know?” Dimitri asked, half trying to reassure her and half wondering if this was some far off thing from the realm of women he was never privy to.   
  
Marianne seemed almost frustrated, “Blood.” Dimitri turned, remembering half a dozen crude phrases, euphemisms for virginity suddenly coming back to him with a new weight.   
  
“Oh. Right. Well there are other ways to make blood appear on sheets.” He mentally slapped himself and turned towards the fire. No. He couldn’t.   
  
It was too late.   
  
His curse fixated on a dozen things in the room that could be used to make either of them bleed. The candelabras were heavy with expensive filigree that was surprisingly sharp. The fireplace poker could do in a pinch. There were wick cutters somewhere. Quills. Blunt objects.   
  
Marianne’s nails were sharp.   
  


Dimitri backed away from her in a panic. Desperately looking for space, a second to breathe.   
  
_You will not hurt her._ He promised himself.   
  
Marianne’s voice transported him back into his room, “Do you have a pin?”   
  
An elegant solution. Less violent. A pin. A pin would be just fine. He’d hurt himself dozens of times over the years, his giant fingers too clumsy with small objects.   
  
Something as insignificant as a pin, as an accident, would not set him into a mindless rage unless he was already at his edge.   
  
As _nervous_ as Marianne made him, it was not the edge of stress but of a desperate want for her to like him. They’d known each other twelve hours and there was an ever growing need to make her comfortable, happy. Safe.   
  
There had to be a pin somewhere in the room.   
  
Oh. Wait. He could do better.   
  
The realization sat pleasantly. He could do something for her. Something to show his intentions towards her were as genuine as he tried to project. 

Marianne was his wife now. She was the queen consort of Faerghus. She was beautiful and spoke confidently even when he was sure she was not.   
  
She believed herself unworthy when he could tell already she was anything but.   
  
He doubled over to his desk, chiding himself for forgetting. Reminding himself he hadn't forgotten, but held on to it out of a childish spite when his father remarried.   
  


It would have been lost had he allowed it to leave his hands. He’d been protecting it, though he wasn’t sure for what. It was rightfully Patricia’s, though she never known it existed.   
  
Now, rightfully Marianne’s. Saved for her before he even knew her.   
  
“This belonged to my mother.” He started, feeling the cool metal in his palm, careful not to squeeze and dent the fragile metal.   
  
It was a broach with a golden lion’s head and tiny sapphires for eyes. A wedding gift, from his grandfather to his grandmother at a time where the finest jewelers in Fodlan could be found at their shops in Fhirdiad.   
  
A golden reminder that Faerghus had once been a wealthy nation. That she was not the backwater, glorified military stronghold others took her for. Good for growing warriors and little else, or so they said.   
  
This was to be her home, and he could show her the beauty underneath the harsh exterior.   
  
She recoiled as it shined in the light, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take that.” 

“No. Please Marianne, I insist. It’s meant for the queen.”   
  
Their eyes met as he placed the lion’s head broach into her palm. Her hands still soft and warm, he let his own linger as she ran her fingers over the delicate detail.   
  
“It’s beautiful.” She said with just a brief edge of hesitance.   
  
It was so easy to be sincere with her, “I haven’t looked at it in many years. It’s always been a bittersweet keepsake for me. I’m hoping for a happy association with it now that it’s yours. I believe it could bring me happiness to see you wear it.”   
  
Marianne gasped a small, “Oh” and turned the broach over in her hands.   
  
They sat in silence, hands entwined as a gentle understanding fell between them.   
  
Marianne broke the silence, “Could you… Would you, or should I?” She asked quietly, pulling the pin out from its catch.   
  
He couldn't. Even the small act of stabbing himself or her with a pin intentionally could trigger his curse. Could send this whole beautiful moment crashing down.   
  
“Perhaps it should be you. It’s meant to be your blood, is it not? I’d rather not harm you.” 

She considered for a moment, toying with the pin, “I have trouble imagining you harming me Dimitri.”   
  
He was so enraptured at hearing his name on her lips he nearly missed what happened next.   
  
Dimitri assumed that Marianne would prick her finger- it seemed the most obvious place to draw a small amount of blood.   
  
But instead, she walked over to the bed and began pulling the quilt down. Then, without casting another glance at him, she began rucking her nightgown up, and stabbed herself on the inside of her thigh.   
  
Dimitri turned away feeling his pulse pick up.   
  
Her legs, her bare legs. He’d only caught a glimpse of what she was doing and it sickened him. 

It excited him.   
  


He felt the cool air through his nostrils, closing his eye as he tried desperately to calm himself. He was a man- It was normal. He was only- his heart was only reacting to- Her. It was her.   
  
No. Simply the surprise of her unexpected plan.   
  
They were to be friends, first and foremost.   
  
He cleared his throat, trying desperately to regain his composure. Reminding himself that one tiny pinprick was nothing. He’d seen nothing.   
  
“Are you… Are you finished?” He asked quietly, staring at the elegant woodcarving on the wall. Terribly afraid to look at whatever she was doing.   
  
“I should give it a moment. There should be. Um. Below me. On my... Blood doesn’t just appear without...” Her stuttered explanations were in such a sharp contrast to the surety of her action.   
  


Him. He was making her uncomfortable.   
  


Dimitri couldn’t remove his focus from the wall, refused to pick apart his thoughts, “I’d assumed you’d prick your finger.”   
  
She huffed out something that might have been a laugh, “Oh. Well your hands feel much more than your thighs. And maybe it’s more convincing if it’s on my nightgown, a little? I don’t know. I feel silly now.”   
  
“No that’s wise. You have my apologies, I don’t mean to embarrass you.”   
  
“I’m easily embarrassed, it’s not your fault.” She stated it as a fact, rather than a reassurance and he felt the need to apologize again though none spilled from his lips.   
  


He maintained his vigil over the wall as he left Marianne to her arrangements. He promised himself he wouldn’t interrupt her again, if he stood at the wall all night it would be a small price to pay.   
  
Then he heard a soft muttering of words and saw the telltale flash of a sigil.   
  


In a blind panic, he whipped his head around, bracing himself for a magical attack.   
  


He had not braced himself enough. Marianne was kneeling on the bed, eyes cast up towards the heavens, her hand between her legs.   
  
Dimitri choked but couldn’t avert his eye from the sight before him. She removed her hand and the warm sensation of faith magic filled the room.   
  
He curled his fingers into a ball, desperate to resume the feeling of his own body as his senses caught up to the situation at hand. They were not under threat in the moment for more than gossiping maids. She was simply climbing back into bed having healed the small cut on her leg.   
  
Nothing even vaguely sensual happened. Just a trick. A bit of blood. A simple healing spell.   
  
Nothing to get excited about.   
  
Dimitri spoke, voice still thick with adrenaline, “You are a healer. I forgot.”   
  
She still seemed nervous, tucking her hair gently behind her ear, “Well we don’t know each other very well.”   
  
He hoped he didn’t sound overly fond as he responded, “I would like to get to know you Marianne.”   
  
She smiled softly, genuinely, and it was the most radiant thing he’d seen that day. To have her smile at him, at them. To feel worthy of her attention.   
  
“Perhaps in the morning? It’s been a very long day.”   
  


As she suggested it he realized just how exhausted he was. Sleep was never his close companion, yet the utter _relief_ that things had not yet gone awry made him feel the weight of three weeks of sleepless anxiety. 

  
“Right. Yes.” He gazed at the bed, at her, “Are you comfortable with sleeping beside another?”   
  
She paled and set her jaw into place, “I’ve never done so before, but I would not mind. It’s very cold here at night. I expected it of course but…”   
  
“The cold of Faerghus is a unique sensation. You will grow used to it.” He approached the bed and Marianne scooted over to the side. He tried not to think of the sheets, her blood, her magic. The sight of her with her hand between her legs- innocent. Healing.   
  
She laid down, turned away from him as she pulled the quilt up to her chin, “I hope I will get used to many things.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a former sex-educator I need to note that bleeding at first-time PIV sex is actually not at all necessary and is, in fact, a sign that things were taken too quickly without enough, ahem, warmup. 
> 
> But also I love a trope so, c'est la vie, they wouldn’t have access to the experience or education to know any better.


	3. Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dimitri takes a trip, reveals some secrets, and wishes desperately he were in love.

There was something about Felix Fraldarius’ particular brand of anxiety that always made Dimitri feel ten years old again. Cared for, yes, yet oddly smothered.  
  
Those close to him often cast Dedue as the overbearing figure in Dimitri’s life- But they’d never seen Felix at full force.  
  
“I don’t care what is _traditional,_ I seem to be the only one who is at all worried about a potential _attack.”_ Felix simmered in the corner of Dimitri’s office but he wasn’t outright yelling, yet.  
  
He really had changed.  
  
Rodrigue hardly flinched, “Felix, it is difficult for a couple to get to know one another with all the distractions of court. This is not merely a whim. A short reprieve would be appropriate. Even if the timing is not ideal I will still advocate for it.” A honeymoon had been Rodrigue’s idea, out to the Blaiddyd summer palace.  
  


Felix rolled his eyes, “Well next time, Dimitri, don’t get married when a bunch of shadowy mages are breathing down our necks.”  
  
“Felix, while there is wisdom in prudence, we shall not live our lives in fear. It is not our way. It is entirely possible Cornelia was their last best chance and it will take them years to gather the essential force to act again.” Rodrigue said, ever level headed.  
  
Felix shot back, “Or Cornelia was an appetizer and the real threat is coming. Going off to get himself killed so he and Marianne can _talk_ to each other doesn’t feel like an equal trade. They have the rest of their lives to _talk_.”  
  
It was odd to hear the two of them fight without malice. For so long the father and son argued over every last thing, and no fight was ever truly about the topic at hand.  
  
It was always about power. About curses and procedure and loyalty. 

About Glenn.  
  


This was for the best. Even if now, as they were fighting about Dimitri, they were _actually_ fighting about Dimitri.  
  
Dimitri tried to reassure him, “I’m not so easily killed Felix.”  
  
Dedue’s low voice cut through the tension, “What if he were closer?”  
  
Dimitri, grateful for a new voice in the squabbling, asked “What are you proposing?” 

“My husband has just finished building an inn a day’s walk from Fhirdiad. Perhaps they could sojourn there?”  
  
Rodrigue gave Dedue a sidelong glance, “Would you accompany Their Majesties?”  
  
He nodded, “If essential for safety.”  
  
Rodrigue sighed, “Well that rather defeats the purpose of a honeymoon.” Felix glared at his father and Rodrigue raised his hands in surrender.  
  
If nothing else, this was an opportunity to actually be able to leave the city. To actually spend time with Marianne beyond public dinners and a few stolen moments before she went to sleep and he pretended to do the same before wandering the halls.  
  
The inn was an excuse to avoid the countryside of Blaiddyd territory where an embittered ex-regent wallowed.  
  
Dimitri tried not to sound as excited as he felt, “For as much as my opinion holds weight here, I would rather spend the next few days in the company of one of my most trusted friends and his husband than the company of my uncle.”  
  
Dedue turned to Dimitri’s right hand, “Felix, would that be sufficient?”  
  
Felix frowned, maintaining a steadfast, “No.”  
  
“Felix,” Rodrigue’s frustration was thick in his voice and the rest of the room turned to Felix as he threw up his hands in defeat. Felix’s gesture was all Rodrigue, not that Dimitri would ever point it out.   
  
“Fine. It’s your funeral if you get attacked. Let’s at least keep everyone under the _impression_ that they’re heading to Blaiddyd.” 

* * *

The front gates of Fhirdiad were such a spectacular sight that Dimitri seldom got to experience- built high with carved stone, standing the test of time from blizzards and sieges.  
  
They were meant to symbolize protection, the entrance into a safe haven. Little did the citizens know they were locked in with a monster.  
  
“Did you say the inn was far?” Marianne asked, seated across from him in the carriage. She’d taken to the news they would be departing the city with a level of unease, though she hadn’t protested.  
  
“No. We will be there within an hour. It would have been reasonable to walk or ride if appearances allowed it.” As it was, they were taking a carriage befitting both their status and the illusion they were going on a much longer journey.  
  
“So close?” Marianne turned from the window to face him, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. He rather liked the wide eyed look. In the space of a week he was starting to see how her expressions relaxed in private. The faces he got to see that the rest of the world did not.  
  
He’d spent only a few hours in the presence of the Margrave Edmund, long enough to discern that Marianne and he shared no blood relation, but when she was appearing before the court she was a near perfect mimic of his poise.  
  
He knew well how exhausting masking one’s true nature became over time. If she relaxed in his presence only for exhaustion’s sake he could bear that.  
  
He wished it might be a level of trust.  
  
Trust he absolutely didn’t deserve.  
  
Dimitri tried to focus on Marianne as he answered her question, hoping he hadn’t taken too long a pause, “The inn is rather strategic in its location. You remember my retainer, Dedue?”  
  
Marianne nodded as something odd crossed her face.  
  
“His husband is the innkeeper. He desired something more in nature than Fhirdiad proper, with a garden for them to tend together.” Dimitri explained.  
  
She softened, just a little, “Oh. Their time together must be precious. I see why he would open so close to the city.”  
  
“Well yes. But there’s also…” How to explain the issues of location? Why Dedue had left that morning on foot? “Marianne I have your confidence, don’t I?”  
  
She nodded, “If you feel I’m worthy of it.”  
  


Dimitri took a deep breath, and lowered his voice not that there were any around to hear him. 

  
“Dedue is cursed. All manner of beasts reject him entirely. He cannot ride, therefore, Ashe has located his escape as close to Fhirdiad as possible.”  
  
Marianne paled at the information, and Dimitri felt guilty for having given Dedue’s curse out so freely. Curses were private business- a badge of honor to be cursed at all, but the details of one’s individual curse were considered intimate information.  
  
Well, Dedue was an intimate to him, his retainer and very dearest friend. 

  
And Marianne was his intimate, now. His wife.  
  
He shouldn’t keep things from her. And he was finding it hard to- Even in the space of a week he was constantly resisting the temptation to act as if he loved her.  
  
It wasn’t the truth. They had a foundation. They were working on friendship first. None of the fondness he was already discovering for her idiosyncrasies and her very nature should hold much water. From watching her braid her hair in the morning to how she bowed her head to pray. How she constantly had a bit of hay from the stables stuck on her dress and it was so delightfully gentle to get to pull it off, and smile, and ask how her visit to Dorte had gone.  
  
She’d started to bring apples for Dimitri’s horse as well.  
  
No. He didn’t love her, that was far too much for her to bear far too soon. 

“That sounds like a terrible curse.” Marianne said glumly as she turned to the window.  
  
Dimitri made a small noise of agreement, but found himself distracted once again by his wife. She really had the most lovely blush. 

* * *

Marianne stopped suddenly as they approached the wooden structure, reading the freshly painted sign. 

“The _Striking Flyer Inn?_ ” She asked, running her fingers over the letters.  
  
“It’s an old legend of Faerghus.” Dimitri explained, “She is a righteous lady knight who saves Faerghus from certain doom with her guile and strength of conviction.”  
  
“She sounds very brave indeed. I’ve never heard that legend before.”  
  
No. She wouldn't have- Dimitri hadn’t come across it until he was well into his majority. It was one of Glenn’s favorite nicknames for Ingrid. “She’s rather obscure. I believe that it’s Ashe’s favorite legend.”  
  
“It’s my favorite legend that I’ll admit to in mixed company.” A bright voice called out from the doorway.  
  
Ashe Ubert-Molinaro was a petite man who seemed to be forever young with his jolly countenance and baby face. Ashe walked a few steps out of the doorway to allow Dedue out to join him on the front stair. Both dressed in aprons, Dedue smiled down at his husband and tucked his bangs out of his face. Saints, it was so strange to see such a stoic man so _openly_ loving to his spouse. It was usually a welcome sight to see him so happy but now a strange pang of jealousy crept up.  
  
Dedue said dryly, “We did have to veto _The Goddess Tower Rose_ as a potential name.”   
  
Ashe blushed at the mention of one of the bawdiest legends in Faerghus and pushed him off gently, nodding his head in decorum, “Your Majesties. Please, welcome. I am honored to have such esteemed guests.”  
  
“I hear we are to be your very first.”  
  
“Well… Yes. And I’m a little embarrassed to admit not everything is quite ready, so kindly only stay in the areas I show you on our tour.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of straying off the path.” Dimitri grinned at just how _proud_ the two men looked. 

The main dining room of the inn would be absolutely grand once it was filled with people. Fine brass chandeliers and an oversized harth lit the room with a stunning glow, and even preparing for just a few visitors the room smelt incredible.   
  
Ashe began “Yes, so the main floor is complete and ready, and I will have your things brought up to your room post-haste. It is the one at the end of the hall, the grandest we have available. I do hope it is to your liking, Your Majesty.” 

Dimitri felt the smallest prickle of annoyance as his title echoed off the rooms, “Ashe, please call me by my name. We’re among friends.”  
  
Ashe froze from his tour, wrinkling his nose, “Dedue doesn’t call you by your name.”  
  
“You’re less stubborn than he is.” Dimitri pointed out good naturedly. Dedue gave him a long suffering look but Ashe only laughed.  
  
“Well that’s certainly true.”  
  
Marianne spoke up for the first time since arriving, “Oh, yes, um, please, no titles. Marianne is just fine.”  
  
Ashe nodded, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to contradict the order. 

“Shall we have lunch?” Dedue asked, gesturing for them to sit at one of the wooden tables. 

Ashe smiled as they sat, asking pleasantly, “Well, your- I mean. Marianne what do you enjoy eating?”  
  
“I am not terribly picky. I’m not overly fond of bird meat.”  
  
Ashe nodded along, “That’s easily arranged. And any desserts? Fish?”  
  
Commands were still difficult for her, and she paused, “Oh well… Dimitri what would you like to eat?”  
  
An awkward silence came over the room as Dedue and Ashe exchanged a look.  
  
“Oh. Um. I am not….” Honesty. He was going to try honesty with her.  
  
Of all the secrets in all the world this one was so harmless without the context to understand. Maybe he’d be a better man if he let her see most of himself.  
  
Dimitri kept his voice even as he admitted, “I can’t really taste food.” 

Marianne frowned, blushing, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. You didn’t tell me…”

  
  
He'd ruined it. Everything. This is what came of secrets. 

  
  
“There’s no need to apologize. I don’t share it very openly. It’s… The healers believe I inhaled too much smoke in the attack in the 1170s. It is merely an inconvenience. Please don’t trouble yourself.”  
  
Dimitri could feel himself losing control of the situation, pulled back in the smell and the taste of the smoke. The guilt pulsed through him at the lie he’d told dozens of times- It felt wrong to lie to her.  
  
But how else could he explain it, if he didn’t understand himself? How to explain what else he’d lost in the attack?   
  
“His majesty can only taste things that are too spicy for even the most headstrong man to handle.” Dedue, ever his protector and friend, explained.  
  
“I’ve heard it’s very useful when dealing with diplomats.” Ashe’s eyes twinkled with humor and Dimitri felt a strange pang of jealousy for how _normal_ Ashe’s life seemed.  
  
Marianne laughed. A beautiful sound that made her smile with her teeth and made Dimitri’s heart sing.  
  
“I suppose that must be very useful. I’ve never heard that strategy. Oh. And they must work so hard to maintain their composure.” She was giggling and he wished nothing more than for her to do it again.  
  
Ashe smiled, nodding at her, “I shall refrain from testing you in that way, Marianne. But please, let’s discuss the menu. Dedue, we should get lunch on the table for our very first guests before we develop a reputation for slow service.”  
  
The lovers went off to the kitchen, discussing the harvest for leeks, and they were suddenly sitting in the middle of an empty, silent room.  
  
Marianne stared at the kitchen door as it swung, “He is not at all what I expected.” 

“What did you expect?” Dimitri asked. Was there a way couples matched in the world? Some hidden pattern he’d missed because he was far too unsuitable to ever think of love?   
  
She shrugged gently, “I’m not sure. But I like Ashe. He seems fulfilled.”  
  
What a strange choice of words, even if it was true. Knowing Ashe of only a few years ago and seeing his life now, though, the choice felt apt. “Exactly. Would you believe he was a knight in training for a short time?”  
  
Her eyebrows shot up, “Truly?”  
  
Dimitri nodded, “Yes. He’s as skilled with a bow as he is a frying pan.” 

“What happened?” Marianne’s face dropped as she asked and she started to mumble an apology for prying. 

  
Dimitri reached for her hand as it rested on the table, trying his best to reassure her that she hadn’t misspoken, “Nothing tragic, he simply chose another path.”  
  
“Oh.” She swallowed, peering up at him as he caught her unasked question.   
  
“It’s not _always_ curses with us Faerghans.” The notion was funny, that she'd apologize meaninglessly because her mind immediately jumped to the worst possible answer.   
  
She frowned, pulling her hand back, “But it often is.”  
  
Her disgust amused him more, “That’s true.”  
  
She tucked her hair behind her ear as she rose, unclasping her cloak and laying it over a chair carelessly. She seemed as usual to be on the edge of mentioning something- but she simply bowed her head and stayed silent.  
  


He stared at her for a moment, trying to discern what about her mood made him desperate to push, “Does it upset you? To talk about curses so frankly?”  
  
Whatever she was expecting him to say, it certainly wasn’t that. Her eyes widened and she gripped the edge of her chair, tangling her hands in her cloak as she took a few shaky breaths.  
  
“I’m not used to it. It’s very… It’s uncouth. It makes me nervous. One _never_ talks about curses back home.” She traced her finger over the lion’s head pin, smudging the metal with fingerprints and trying to buff them out with the same. 

Saints. He was an idiot. He was so focused on his own secrets he hadn’t considered hers. She knew, that he knew, that she was cursed. He’d revealed Dedue’s secrets to her, blatantly expressed Ashe’s lack of one.  
  
It was the false intimacy again, he realized. His desire for her to know him without willing to be vulnerable with his own life.   
  
He was truly the worst of the worst.   
  
_So tell her. Show her what she's married._  
  
He couldn’t help but feel the same deceptive warmth as she fussed over the lion’s head pin, and he said, “You are entitled to your privacy Marianne.”  
  
She stepped back in a state of shock, saying absolutely nothing as her gaze darkened.  
  
Her tone made his blood run cold, “Do not ever ask me. Please. I can’t.” 

His curse demanded answers, to push against the direct order, but his mouth expressed a sincere sounding apology, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

  
She shook her head, flushing as she scrambled back to sit at the table, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t. I’m… I’m being…”  
  
Dimitri cut her off from the panic, desperate for a new topic, a new conversation all together. “Why don’t you ask me a question then?” 

“What?”  
  
He worked through his plan as he spoke, and his seed of an idea began to sprout, “Maybe… Yes. Perhaps we should be asking each other more questions. Simple ones. Maybe not so simple ones. If we’re to know one another we should be talking.”  
  
Marianne folded her arms across her chest, and he could feel her dark mood bloom, “You don’t need to try to make me feel better.”  
  
“I will always try to make you feel better.”  
  
His earnestness always seemed to catch her off guard, and she stared at him in disbelief for a moment until she nodded.   
  
“Fine. Um. A question then… You said you didn’t want to be married. Why then?”  
  
Why was a heavy question. Because Arundel was convincing? Because watching Felix melt around Annette made Dimitri so painfully happy for his friend and rang a bell of loneliness he'd forgotten hung in his mind?   
  
Because he never wanted to hurt anyone but by remaining unmarried he was hurting his kingdom?   
  
All of that was far too much to tell Marianne, so he answered the parts he could, “I am used to being alone. I used to have a family but I am the only one left. I merely...”  
  
“Alone?” She asked. 

He could feel his mood darken, so desperate to not feed his curse with memories of bloodshed, “There was a coup attempt, a decade ago, surely you know.”  
  
“No. I um.” And for some unknown reason she laughed, “You are never alone Dimitri. I have observed your life for only a week, but you are always surrounded by others.”  
  
“Oh. I suppose that is true. A different way of looking at things.” Her view amused him, shockingly positive. He had no real family, simply friends and advisors. It was more than some had, truly. He should be grateful. 

He caught her eye and felt brave enough to ask, “A friend mentioned to me that you were often alone growing up?”  
  
He could imagine it, herself, her animals. Prayer. A quiet life, sheltered. But it didn't seem correct. There was something in Marianne's bearing, her very nature that told him they understood each other too well for mere strangers, even if they were married.   
  
There was something that made his soul call to hers. Nothing good called to the center of his being.   
  
  
“Yes. I was often alone.” She didn't seem upset for him bringing it up, and his curiosity got the better of him. 

“Did you prefer it that way?”  
  
“No.” She said quickly. Then she shook her head and corrected herself, “Well. Yes. It was for the best.” 

  
  
For the best. Yes. Well that he understood. She'd answered her own question. Why didn't he marry? For the best. 

“It is painful to shut yourself off from others because you wish to shield them, because you care for them.”   
  
  
“How…?” Marianne trailed off, staring in disbelief without denying the truth of his statement. There was weight to their interactions, when they truly had time to talk, and his curse craved the reasons.   
  
“We have a lot in common, I’m finding.” He chided himself, he’d said far too much.  
  


* * *

There was nothing to fear in the woods of Faerghus but beasts. Dimitri hunted wolves from the time he was a child- Then not at all. The combination of Ashe’s presence and the need to keep Dimitri’s condition a secret meant Dedue had very little recourse to refuse a short afternoon ride.  
  
Dimitri assumed it would be a gentle jaunt, but Marianne urged her horse on fast and with no fear. It was breathtaking and he could only do his best to keep up.  
  
Fun. He was having fun. “If I didn’t know any better I’d assume you were raised in Faerghus. You ride well. It’s as if Dorte understands you perfectly.” He dismounted his own horse, holding out a hand to help Marianne down- not that she needed the assistance.  
  
She beamed under the praise, rubbing along Dorte’s mane as she let him graze freely, “He does. And I him. He…” She noticed him staring at her, “Oh. You must find that so terribly odd.” 

Dimitri disagreed, and for a moment he wished to demand she tell him who made her believe herself as such. She was beautiful, and smart. Gentle in a way he could only imagine. How could she not see how remarkable she was? “I truly do not. I don’t know why you insist on calling yourself odd, Marianne.”  
  
She flushed, “I… I’m terrible with people.”  
  
She believed it so, even if he saw little evidence of what she claimed, “You have not embarrassed yourself at court. You resemble your father as an orator.”  
  
His compliment confused her, and she denied his evaluation of her abilities. “He’s my adopted father. Any resemblance is manufactured. I’ve received tutelage. But surely you see how I… When I’ve not practiced…”  
  
She used her own nervousness as an example, gesturing to the dead air as she tried to find words to bring herself down further. 

  
He couldn’t stand for that. It was so clear to him, “You work better under pressure.”  
  
This gave her pause, “I… I guess so.”  
  
It was as good as accepting a compliment, and he’d take the victory gladly. He felt safe to approach her as she calmed, and it felt better still that she did not back away as he joined her side.  
  
He did not frighten her, at least not at that moment. Perhaps that was ignorance or foolishness on her part. But he would silence the parts of himself that knew was making a grave mistake.  
  
He’d held his curse at bay for those he loved before, once. If he could love her, perhaps he could forever drown out the voices. 

  
“I’m the opposite.” Dimitri proclaimed sheepishly.  
  
“You?” Her eyes widened and she looked up at him, confused.  
  
He smiled at her shock, “I am best when things are calm, when I can think things through and ask for assistance. I get caught up in the pressure of the moment.”  
  
An understatement of the situation at hand, but true all the same. 

She considered, studying him and he wondered if she had been secretly picking him apart all this time, “Oh… Well I suppose we truly are opposites in that regard.”  
  
Dimitri mused, “I’m lucky then.”  
  
“Lucky?” She said to the ground.  
  
“That you are at your best in those circumstances. I am lucky to have you.” In a moment of impulse he reached for her chin, turning her to face him so she could see how earnestly he meant his words.  
  
Even with his own sincerity, she matched with a quiet anger, “You are not. Don’t say such things.” She didn’t move away from him but he dropped his hand, leaving them standing toe to toe in the middle of the forest with no one but each other.  
  
It was so quiet here, and such solitude usually made his mind louder, but in her presence even the most reasonable of violent thoughts seemed ridiculous by contrast.  
  
Who he was with her was as much who he was as the monster that fought until he could no longer stand. He was both. Perhaps he could choose to be the former more often, if only to be worthy of her grace.  
  
He smiled broadly as a measure of confidence fell over him, “I will speak the truth to you. I rarely feel lucky, but in your presence I do.”  
  
Marianne matched his smile, placing her hands on her hips as she stared up at him, “Perhaps you don’t find me odd because you are incredibly odd yourself.”  
  


He laughed at her accusation, a thunderous, embarrassing thing that left him nearly breathless. She looked shocked for a moment, to see him so undone, but pressed her hand up to her mouth as she joined in.  
  


It was good, cathartic and he could not remove his eye from her smile. Her joy radiated and he leaned in closer as he whispered, “If it would please you, I shall declare us odd, and we shall be odd together.”  
  
She nodded, tilting her head up so their faces were oh so close, “I think that would suit, Dimitri.”  
  
Overcome with joy he leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead.  
  
She tensed at the contact, then, as if she realized her own misstep she reached a hand up to his cheek, stroking one calloused thumb against the bare skin.  
  
“Marinane, may I kiss you?” He felt himself ask, and for once did not second guess his instinct.  
  
Her voice, quiet and light as a bird answered, “Yes.”  
  
And so he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is love going to solve any curse related issues? Of course not!
> 
> Next Time: A perfect plan. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
